The Night Doctor
by itsanotherfanficwriterohno
Summary: The five times Dr. Lake was visited by a mysterious boy and the one time she visited him. (Trollhunter Au, Trollhunter!Claire and Half-Troll! Jim, Barbara POV, Third Installment, series of One-Shots).
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Trollhunters or any of its characters. Hey, I added a third installment, this time from Barbara's POV. It's already finished, but I'm still revising, so I will be publishing a chapter or so every few days. I hope you enjoy! Please review and if you have any critiques, I am happy to have them! I don't have a Beta so all the revisions are done by yours truly. I've got a fourth part I'm working on, but I probably won't publish it for awhile because I'm starting school again soon and won't have as much time. Happy 2018!

* * *

His first visit was unexpected.

Few things in the world fazed Dr. Barbara Lake, but a horned teen storming into the waiting room with a bleeding girl in his arms was definitely up there.

She dropped her own clipboard in surprise. He was lucky there weren't more people at the clinic. Most of the staff had gone home for the night, leaving only her and Nurse Madeleine, a sweet old lady who could barely see five feet in front of her (and in Barbara's opinion probably shouldn't even be in nursing still, but Arcadia had a severe shortage of medical professionals and needed all the help it could get).

At first, she'd thought they were a part of a costume party gone wrong, until the girl's armor vanished into thin air right in front of Barbara's eyes. Thank god Nurse Madeleine was in the backroom with one of the overnight patients, not that she would see much.

Being the Doctor she was, Barbara jumped into action.

"What happened?" She asked, guiding the boy into one of the open rooms. She almost thought he was a man on account of his height, however his face and eyes belayed someone far younger.

"Please," he whispered, "do something, anything."

He was shaking. Not good. Her careful eyes caught fresh blood on the girl's temple.

 _Shit,_ she thought, _possible brain contusion._

"I-I didn't know what to do," he started, voice uneven. "She—it wasn't supposed to be like this."

"Calm down," Barbara said, steading the teen, "and tell me exactly what happened."

"She was attacked from behind by…coyotes. I tried to stop her from going after them, tried to convince her to go home, that she was in over her head, but she wouldn't listen. Why didn't she listen?"

 _Bullshit,_ thought Barbara, but she didn't argue with him. He was hyperventilating, his pupils shrunken against the unusually bright blue of his irises.

"I need you to put her on the bed, so I can look over her injuries." She said. "Carefully. Don't try to move her neck. She may have a brain injury."

The teen nodded, placing the girl down so softly Barbara barely heard the bed move.

Immediately, she went to work, checking the girl's vitals. A pang ran through her heart: the girl was the age her son would be. The younger female groaned during her inspection but didn't wake, which worried Barbara. There were scratches on her face, though none of them looked like they belonged to any coyotes, if there even were coyotes in this region.

The blood on her forehead was due to a small cut, which relieved her. Still, they weren't out of the danger area yet. She cleaned and bandaged the wound, then glanced back at the boy in the corner.

After the initial freak-out the teen had gone into a silent state, his face unreadable, unnerving the Doctor. Normal teens didn't do that.

Like the girl, he was dressed in armor, though his was a deep obsidian hue, its color marred by a multitude of scratches, including a claw mark larger than any animal she'd ever seen. Whoever these two teens were, they certainly weren't role-players; his outfit looked too real to be fake. Her gaze coasted downward, spotting the teen's feet talons. They looked mostly human, but the nailbeds were dark and elongated, curling over like cat claws.

 _Nope,_ she thought, _definitely not fake._

"How is she?" He said.

"Stable, for now. She's got a small knot on the side of her head and some scrapes on her face, but the rest of her body seems to be functioning normally. It was good of you to bring her in when you did. She'll require a brain scan though. I have to call in the radiologist."

"I should go," he said gruffly.

Barbara placed herself in front of the boy. Despite how terrifying he appeared, she wasn't done with him.

"No, she needs someone to look over her while I go call Dr. Zimmerman," she said. "Please, stay."

"And expose myself to more of your kind?" He said mockingly, "Yes, I'm sure that will go quite well."

Her kind? So, he wasn't human.

 _Of course he wasn't_ , she berated herself. _How many people have horns and fangs?_ _That were real?_

God, she was going to need a drink when she got home. Perhaps go out and find a bar to get absolutely sloshed in.

"What…are you?" She finally asked. "If you don't mind me asking."

His bright eyes zoomed in on her, studying her. Barbara shivered. "Does it matter?"

"No, I suppose not." Hell yes it did, but Barbara wasn't going to argue with the six-in-a-half-foot demon kid or whatever he was. "Still, stay with her, at least until her parents get here. Do you know her parents' number? Or a friend's maybe?"

Absolute silence. He shuffled his feet, claws clicking against the floor. Great.

"Can you at least give me her name?"

He snuck a peak back at the girl in the bed, gaze softening. "Claire. Claire Nuñez."

It was a start. She would put in a report to the police as soon as possible. Leaving out the giant horned teen of course.

"How do you know each other?"

"She's my enemy."

Barbara raised an eyebrow. Even a blind person could see what was going on. Every few seconds his eyes flickered between the floor and the unconscious girl. She was not paid enough for this shit. "I…see. You know, not many people would go out of their way to save their enemy."

"What are you implying, human?"

"Doctor," Barbara corrected him.

"What?"

"Doctor. I'm Dr. Lake. I went through four years of medical school and three years of residency to get this title. The least you could do is refer to me as Doctor, not human."

"My apologies," he grounded out, " _Doctor_."

"Apology accepted," she replied. She set down the clipboard, regarding the two kids. "You must really care about her if you carried her all the way here."

He scoffed. "Care? As if. She's just a stupid girl who keeps getting in over her head in a world that would sooner see her dead. She and her other human friends are a clueless bunch of idiots. How she has survived this long I have no clue. Certainly not because of her so-called trainers."

"You like her," Barbara stated.

He flushed, then turned away, his gaze directed at the window. "She's just a kid."

"So are you."

"Not anymore," he replied darkly. "Believe me, hu—Dr. Lake. In my world, girls like Claire are lunch for the people I deal with every day. Literally."

"Well, since you're already here you watch over her, at least until her parents arrive."

"That's— "

"I'm not asking you," she said firmly, "I'm telling you."

"I shouldn't even be here in the first place. If they find out… I'm practically risking my life talking to you right now."

"There's no changing the past. I promise I won't tell anyone that you were here, but only if you stay with her until her family gets here." Barbara added, "Brain injuries can be nasty and I need someone to monitor her breathing while I go make my calls."

Like a balloon, the boy deflated, his cold façade replaced with open unease.

"You won't tell her I'm here, right?"

"Not unless you ask me to."

"No," he moved closer to the girl's bed. Hesitantly, his hand covered the girl's. "It's better that she doesn't know. It's already complicated enough as it as."

Were all teenagers this melodramatic? Perhaps Barbara was being a tad harsh, but after working an eighteen hour shift it was hard not to judge.

"Suit yourself," she remarked, heading to the door.

"Wait," he called out as she twisted the knob. "Thank you, Doctor."

"It is my duty as a Doctor to help those in need, Mr…?"

The teen coughed, not looking her in the eyes. "…Atlas. Forget I was ever here."

"Take good care of her, Atlas."

Barbara wasn't fazed by much, but damn if those eyes didn't do something to her cold dead heart. No child should have those eyes, so haunted, as if he would break at the smallest of touches. It brought old feelings and that scared her.

No, she wasn't going to think about that right now. It was too late in the night. Remembering right now was not going to help this Claire girl. She picked up her phone and began her calls.

She found out he was true to his word. When she returned, followed by the girl's frightened parents, he had vanished, a slightly open window the only evidence of his presence.

Part of her breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever world he and the girl were apart of had nothing to do with her. She already had enough problems in her life. Besides, who would believe her? In the end, against her better judgment, she lied to the parents, only telling them that some random samaritan found her and brought her there, vanishing right after. The daughter appeared suspicious, but said nothing, confirming Barbara's lie with such certainty.

It made her hate herself all the more.

Which brought her to the other, larger portion of herself, the one that felt worried for the two. Seeing children in danger made her sick to her stomach. Even the thought of it made her uneasy. She only hoped that they kept safe, or at least relatively whole.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Trollhunters or any of its characters.

I hope you enjoy the new chapter! Please Review.

Additionally, for those of you who might be confused with the random jumps in the story, this is a series of one-shots that happen both pre, during, and post Dawn's First Light and Midnight Men. Also, while most of the stuff that happens in Canon occurs here, they happen at different times in this story, i.e. Creepslayerz are formed sooner and Claire doesn't go to the Darklands until much later.

* * *

The second visit surprised her, though not as much as the first. Still, Barbara didn't think he would ever return.

Months had passed since the incident. Every once and awhile her mind would travel back to that night, but with a new man in her life and all the overtime she'd been covering for her coworkers, she began to forget, or, at least try to do so.

It occurred right as she was about to leave, another long shift at the clinic coming to a close. Dawn had yet to hit Arcadia when she opened the door to her office, his shadowy approach nearly scaring her out of her wits.

"Good morning, Doctor Lake."

Barbara jumped, covering her mouth to suppress a shocked yell. She almost didn't recognize him. The cloak obscured most of his features, but she easily recognized the voice.

"Oh lord," she held a hand to her chest, breathing heavily. "You scared me. What are you doing here?"

"I came to thank you. You know, for taking care of the girl." He flipped off the cloak, however she could only see the outlines of his horns against the darkness of the room.

"I'm a Doctor. It's what I do," she replied. "But I doubt you're just stopped by to thank me. What's the real reason you're here?"

He laughed mirthlessly, "I can't fool you, can I?"

She flipped on the light and gasped. His face looked terrible, bruises decorating his skin like an abstract painting. One eye was completely swollen shut and the other didn't look much better. He limped closer, his right hand protecting his side, the dark material soaked with blood.

"Get on the table," she ushered him up, "and take off your shirt. I need to see."

The moment he pulled it off she went to work.

It was bad. Really bad. She was surprised he got here this injured. A normal person would have gone into shock.

He winced as she cleaned it, hands gripping the table's edge.

"You'll need stitches," she remarked, taking in the damage.

Barbara fought the urge to vomit. There are scars. Everywhere. Some deeper than most. A cold protective fury erupted from within her, but she smothered it. Stiches first, worry later.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he supplied. "Most of them are pretty old."

"Do your parents know about this?" Barbara wanted to ask: are they the ones who did this? She kept that to herself however.

"No, as far as I know," he admits. "I can't don't remember them. I lost all my memories when I was ten."

"How old are you now?"

"Sixteen, I think."

 _So young,_ Barbara thought. Jim would be about his age. Sympathy bloomed from within. He was a child and he already went through so much in life.

Barbara patted his knee, "I know what it's like."

"Huh?"

"To lose someone," Barbara said, picking up a needle and sutures and placing them nearby.

"Who did you lose?"

"My…" she paused, "My son. He went out on his bike one day…and never came back."

Barbara went to the cabinets, pulling out a syringe and the local anesthetic. "I'm going to numb the pain."

He looked away as she injected it, face white, though from blood loss or fear of needles she couldn't say. "What was he like?"

"Hmm?" Barbara asked, sliding the needle through the side of his wound. "What did you say?"

"Your son. What was he like?"

"Jim he—he was a good boy. He liked to take care of me, cooking and cleaning so I wouldn't have to. Ha, I think I relied more on him than he on me. He was just so dependable; you know? Very responsible and loving. I couldn't have asked for a better boy."

"You miss him."

"Every second of every day," she said, finishing up the suture. "Who did this to you, Atlas?"

"It's complicated." The teen brushed his bangs back, gazing into an unseen distance. "And it shouldn't be, but it is. You see…I shouldn't even be telling you this. But hell, you know so much already…Basically, I pissed off the son of my dad's boss. I wouldn't…do a certain thing and I got punished for it. Gah, he's such a fucking asshole, too. The kind of guy that looks down on everyone. And my dad puts up with it. Everyone puts up with it, and do you know why? It's because they're afraid, and they shouldn't be. We outnumber him, we hold the resources, we have the advantage, but just because this guy is Gun—Boss's son, he shits all over us. I wouldn't do what he asked and you know what? I'm glad I didn't. The beating was worth it if she didn't get hurt."

"She?" Barbara questioned, a small smile forming on her lips. "You mean Claire?"

The boy's eyes widened. "Wah, no…I mean, it's just…"

"So, she is involved then. I've been meaning to ask about her."

"She's fine." He muttered. "Better than fine."

"So you haven't asked her out then?"

"What? No!" Atlas exclaimed, his cheeks reddening. "She's my enemy."

"But you like her." Barbara stated, taping a white bandage to cover his wound.

"Alright, fine. Yes. Was it that obvious?" He covered his face with both hands. "Don't answer that. Gah, I'm so dead. She probably hates my guts."

"You won't know until you ask," Barbara said. "Check around. Do some research. You've got a noggin: use it."

"You're exactly like my father—I mean, my mentor."

"I thought you said you don't have a father."

"He's not my real father, I mean, yeah, he did kinda adopt me…" Atlas scratched at one of his ears. "Okay, so he is my father. It's kind of complicated."

"Well, maybe he can give you advice."

The teen threw her a dubious look. "Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny. He's the last person I want to find out. No, out of the question."

"Do you have any women you could ask? Someone you can trust?"

"There's Nom—my Aunt, but she'd probably laugh at me."

"You don't have to tell her who. Just ask for some dating tips."

"I don't know. I mean, she's kind of a nutso. What if she gives me the wrong advice?"

"There's the internet, books, TV shows…," she counted off with her fingers. "So don't go making excuses. The worst case scenario is that Claire says no."

"Oh, I can think of far worse than that," he said. "I'll be lucky to escape with my head if it came to that."

He pushed himself off the table, leaning onto the doctor for support. Putting his arms through his shirt, he shot Barbara an uneasy smile.

"You really think I should do it? That I should ask the Trollhun—Claire out?"

Barbara picked up the cloak and threw it over his shoulders, careful to avoid the teen's injured side. "You only live once, Atlas."

"You're a good human, Doctor."

"And you're a good…whatever you are."

She rested a hand on his chest, looking up into his blue eyes.

Who would have thought she would be giving dating advice to an awkward otherworldly teenager?

And yet, somehow, for whatever strange reason, it didn't bother her. The horned boy was growing on her like a fungus.

Would she have acted this way with Jim? Advising her son on love and such? Such an unusual thought, her baby boy, a teenager. It was hard to reconcile with the young ten-year-old in her mind's eye, but she tried.

For trying was all that she could do at this point.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Trollhunters or any of its characters.

I hope you enjoy the new chapter! Reviews are appreciated!

* * *

His third visit came at the worst possible time.

After all, it wasn't often people find out their boyfriends are literal Trolls.

Barbara angrily adjusted the glasses on her nose as she leaned back in her office chair, trying not to think about the previous week's episode.

She failed, of course.

An entire magical world right underneath their very feet. Literally.

It was a bit jarring, yet…not. In the whole scheme of things Barbara found she wasn't as surprised as she thought she would be.

She had an inkling as to what world Atlas came from, but to actually see it was another thing entirely. She never questioned the boy though, believing that some things were best kept secret.

And now, she was directly involved.

Great, just what Barbara needed. As if her life wasn't complicated enough.

She hadn't talked to Walt since he and the girl—Claire, she remembered—destroyed her living room. The girl was apologetic, she and her friends offering to at least clean up the broken wood and glass, but it didn't change the fact that she would need new furniture _and_ a new door. She had money, but between the mortgage and the car she was spread pretty thin at the moment.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

Barbara startled up off her chair, looking around for the source of the noise. She didn't have to look far; a dark figure rattled his knuckles against the window.

Atlas grinned mischievously from beyond the glass, waving at her in a friendly manner. He knocked again, his other hand readjusting his grip over the strap of the backpack he carried.

Barbara sighed, then propped open the window.

"Seriously, Atlas? What's wrong with you, child? This is the second story. Get your butt in here. What if you fall and break your neck?"

He crawled inside, careful not to rack his horns against the window pane. "You're so funny, Dr. Lake. As if a fall this low could kill me."

"Is everything okay?" She went into Doctor Mode, pulling his shirt up to check for wounds. "Are you still hurting?"

"Whoa, hey! What are you doing?"

"Calm down, Atlas. I just want to see how your wound is healing." What was once a grisly claw mark had closed, fading into a jagged lightning-shaped scar. Otherwise, the boy looked no worse for the wear. "Any residual pain?"

"Ah, no, it's fine actually," he remarked, scratching his cheek. "Your stitches helped a lot."

Barbara stepped back, arms crossed. "Well then. Why are you here if you're not injured, Atlas?"

The teen hiked his shoulders up, both hands tight against the straps of his backpack. His face flushed. "I wanted to thank you. For everything."

"It was no trouble at all, really." She said.

"Well, I was told gifts were good ways of showing appreciation, so—" He unzipped the bag, pulling out a plastic container. "Ta-da!"

"What is it?" She asked, eyebrows raised. "Oh my god, are those— "

The teen placed them into her open hands, a proud grin gracing his features. "Yes! Shrimp cakes. I made them myself. I noticed you like to eat shrimp fried rice a lot."

She paused, brows coming together. "Wait, hold on a second. Have you been spying on me?"

"No, no! I was just protecting you!" He exclaimed, "I wanted to make sure no one tried to hurt you for helping me or the Trollhunter."

She rubbed her temples. On one hand, he'd violated her privacy. On the other, shrimp cakes. "So you brought me food as thanks."

He nodded, passing her a plate from his bag. "You should eat more. You're very skinny."

"That's exactly what my boyfriend says," she said, grabbing three cakes for her plate. Screw table manners, she was hungry. "Though at this point I'm not even sure if he's my boyfriend anymore. Turns out he's a Troll and is a part of an evil army of Dum-Dums or something."

"Gumm-Gumms, but go on."

"So, does that make you a…?"

"Half-Troll. Unaffiliated at the moment."

That explained…nothing.

Still, Barbara continued on. "Well, apparently that Claire-girl—the Trollhunter—is supposed to stop this Gumm-Gumm army, or so the weird blue Troll said."

"Yeah, I heard from Claire. She's really sorry about all this by the way."

"Oh?" She grinned. "A text? Does that mean what I think it means?"

He shook his head excitedly. "Holy shit, you were right."

"When did this happen?"

"Recently, just after Angor Rot's death," he said, looking down at his phone. "She gave me her number! We text all the time. And we share these things called 'Memes', though some of them are very confusing. I still don't understand the frog one."

She settled back into her chair. "Details, kid, details. What happened?"

"You said I should scope out the field, so that's what I did. After some spying on her and the others, I noticed she always had her sketchbook with her. So I stole it and what do you know? Like, half the book was filled with drawings of me."

"You stole her art book?"

He waved her off. "No, no, it's okay. I put it back before she saw."

Barbara shook her head, but gestured for him to continue, asking, "and then?"

"Well, next I stole her Amulet and left her a note to meet me in the woods near her house."

The woman resisted the temptation to smack her hand against her face. Perhaps it was different for Trolls. Still though. "That…sounds creepy. And she met actually you there?"

"Yeah. I kind of tried following Nomura's advice, but that failed."

"What did she say?"

"To corner your love interest and prevent them from escaping."

"This Nomura sounds…interesting." Wait, is that— "You don't mean Ms. Nomura, the museum director, do you?"

"Yeah, her last boyfriend was a huge troll though, so maybe it worked for them."

Barbara pinched the arch of her nose. She'd gone out for coffee with both the woman and her boyfriend last month. They had a thrilling talk about pottery of all things. Was everyone in her life involved in the supernatural?

"After that fell through I just confessed to her and we walked around and then we kissed." He hugged his backpack close to him. "It was magical. Don't ever tell Claire I said that though."

She covered her snort with a small cough. Was she like this as a child? The memory of her entire locker covered in photos of her and her ex-husband passed through her head. No, she had probably been worse. "Did you ever return her Amulet?"

"Oh, I told her I hide it in the school. I figured it was safer there than in my hands."

She slapped a hand over her face. "I'm amazed she agreed to date you."

He sighed, "Me too. But look! We went on a picnic date yesterday and she got me these clothes."

She noticed, but didn't want to say anything. If it weren't for his "extra" features, he could have easily passed for any Arcadian teen.

Claire had chosen wisely, dressing the boy in fitted blue jeans and a darker long-sleeved turtleneck. He was even wearing shoes, a small wonder since she'd always seen him without. Maybe he trimmed his nails to fit into them?

"She's teaching me a lot about human culture too. I mean, it's not like lived under a rock or anything, I lived with Changelings for as long as I can remember, and they're always trying to be up-to-date with the newest human technology, but…it's different with her. It's like everything is suddenly interesting and new. I've been "binging" a bunch of shows on Netflix and Hulu. I really like the cooking shows. Its where I got the idea to make you Shrimp Cakes, because you like shrimp and—"

She put a finger to his mouth, shushing the teen. "Slow down," she said. "You're talking a mile a minute. I'm old, so bear with me here."

"That's what father says too," he said, putting on a fake British accent. "Young Atlas, 'Men of few words are the best men.' He's a total nerd for Shakespeare and other old as dirt writers, which makes since because he's a history teacher and—"

"Wait," she stopped him, eyes widening. "Is…is Walter Strickler your dad?"

"Oh shit," he said, putting a shrimp cake into his mouth. "Pretend you didn't hear that."

"Did you know?"

"About you? Not until recently," he admitted, hands up. "I promise."

She tore off a piece of shrimp and threw it at his head. "I cannot believe all this time my boyfriend had a son and he didn't tell me! Ugh, I'm not sure what is worse, him lying about being a human and wrecking my house or him lying about not having kids."

"I mean, technically—"

"Not helping, Atlas," she groaned. "God, why do I always have the worst taste in men."

He picked up the piece of food off of his hair and stuck it in his mouth. "He's not so bad. I mean, sure, he's a Troll, both literally and figuratively, but he's been an alright dad to me so far."

Barbara rolled her eyes. Coming from the budding thief, that was not saying much. She sighed, saying, "I just can't even imagine him as a father after what happened."

"He's not _so_ bad," Atlas said. "I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for him." The teen looked down at his hands, "When I was first…brought in, the Changelings didn't know what to do with me. I was put in a cell and treated like an animal. They once tried to feed me socks and well…ultimately it led to me biting off someone's finger, but that's beside the point. The point is: Dad, he saved me. He treated me like, well, a 'human' being as they say. I wouldn't have survived without his help. I still need his help from time to time. He's…not the most conventional guy, but he's a good person deep down. He's like me in a way. We don't do well with emotions, especially with girls, and sometimes, we just need a little push in the right direction to get us going."

"He and your girlfriend destroyed my living room," she pointed out.

"Okay, so maybe he needs a lot of push. But he's changed since he's met you, Doctor Lake."

Barbara glanced at her phone (which she'd done 142 times that day, but hey, who was counting?). "You say that, but why hasn't he called?"

"He's probably afraid too," Altas said. "Behind all that stoic British nonsense he's got a good heart, he just forgets to use it sometimes."

The doctor stood, heading towards the window. It was a beautiful night, the weather neither too cool nor too warm.

What was she even doing here?

Did she like Walt? Yes. Undoubtedly. Did she trust him though? Hell no. Whatever relationship they had after this would have to change. No more secrets. She knew now.

Her gaze flitted back to the young man in her office, who sheepishly smiled at her.

Atlas would need her, she realized. He had no medical figure in his life (or mother-figure, part of her whispered, but she ignored it). What would happen if he got sick or was seriously injured? What if Claire or one of her friends from last night got injured? As much as she hated the fact that children were risking their lives fighting monsters, she understood their reasoning. Just as she protected people's bodies, they protected peoples' lives.

As long as it was in Barbara's power she would help in whatever manner she could.

"You're a strange kid, you know that, Atlas?"

"And you're a strange Doctor."

"I'm glad you shared that story with me," she started, "and you know you're always welcome to drop by. Also, tell Walt that it was pretty pathetic of him to send his son over to clear things up between us. If he wants to speak with me, he can do it over coffee. This Sunday. Ten O'clock sharp. I also expect him to be paying for the repairs in my house."

"Nothing gets past you, does it?"

She smiled and it actually felt genuine.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Trollhunters or any of its characters.

Hey, I put out two chapters today because I love ya'll so much. Thank you for all the reviews! Please enjoy!

* * *

His fourth visit brought back memories.

When Atlas came to her office door carrying her son's best friend, Barbara was flooded with what she could only call a mixture of unease and melancholy.

She hadn't spoken to Toby in years. They waved to each other whenever they crossed paths, but ever since her son…disappeared, it changed. It was her fault, really. Barbara had closed herself off from everyone, focusing all her emotional and physical willpower into finding Jim that, by the end of her desperate three-years search, she'd been completely drained. It took a long time for her to reconnect with old friends and family after the fact.

Toby flushed white at the sight of her, yet still put on a smile. "H-hey Ms. Lake. How's it going?"

Barbara came forward, clipboard clenched to her chest like a shield. "Hello, Toby. I'm doing well. And yourself?"

Atlas looked between the two, "Does everyone in Arcadia know each other or something?"

She noticed the limp the other boy was sporting. "Toby, what happened to your leg?"

"It was a fire-breathing dragon!" He exclaimed. "It was awesome sauce! You should have been there. Oh, I mean—"

The shorter teen covered his mouth, eyes directed towards Atlas.

The taller shrugged. "It's cool, she knows about it."

Toby gave a sigh of relief. "Oh man, well, I guess that makes since if she's not freaking out about you…"

Barbara cast a look to Atlas. "Perhaps an explanation is in order."

Toby spoke first, "Atlas and I are a part of the Creepslayerz now. We protect humans from the Creepers that lurk in the darkness."

"I was dragged into their group against my will," Atlas explained. "The humans were in desperate need of my help."

"We were out searching for the Creeper when it appeared out of nowhere!"

Atlas laughed dryly, remarking, "It didn't appear out of nowhere. It was directly in front of us. I told you guys not to go near it but then Steve startled it and it attacked."

Toby thrust a fist into the air. "We fought it off, but we were soon cornered."

" _I_ fought it off. You all were scared shitless for half of the fight."

"Atlas jumped on its back!"

"That part was sadly true."

"I hit it with my weapon."

"He mean's _my_ weapon."

"But it was too powerful! It slammed me against a tree. Then Atlas's girlfriend and her friends came in, Atlas killed it, and we all went out for Ice-Cream." He took in a deep breath, "The End. Ow, ow, ow! What are you doing, Dr. Lake?"

"Examining your foot." Barbara said, "There's a bit of bruising, here. How's the pain?"

"Not too bad, Dr. Lake. I've had worse."

"Then it's likely a minor sprain. Keep off of it for a couple days and make sure to put ice on it."

"See? I told you it wasn't bad, dude." Toby said to Atlas.

"You can never be too careful."

"He's right," Barbara remarked, wrapping a bandage around the boy's ankle. "It doesn't take much to break something; you should know that, Toby. Remember when you and Jim were eight?

"Oh my god, how could I forget! That stupid seesaw destroyed my right arm. I remember crying and Jim went off and got you. Nana was furious. I was forbidden from going to that playground for months! Wow, I can't believe how long it's been…"

Barbara nodded, "Yeah…"

Silence passed between them. Barbara swallowed, mouth dry. She heard Toby cough.

Atlas started, "Dr. Lake, have you been eating much lately? You seem rather pale."

"Oh, I'm fine, really." Her stomach growled. "I might have skipped dinner though. No biggie, I'll just order out."

"You're not fine. Skipping meals is unhealthy." He pulled out his phone, "Look, I'm free tomorrow, so why don't I make you some Beef Stroganoff or something."

"Oh, can I have some too?" Toby asked. "Seriously, Dr. Lake, he's an awesome cook, just as good as—

Toby froze. His face fell along with his shoulders.

"Jim." Barbara finished, not looking at the teen.

"Do you still look for him?" Toby asked after a moment, voice broken.

"Every day." Barbara closed her eyes. Her hands shock, but she covered it up by putting them in the pockets of her white coat.

Toby stared down at the floor, voice soft, saying, "After he disappeared, I looked everywhere in Arcadia for him. Once, I tried to look for him past Arcadia, but Nana called the cops and I was grounded for three months for that. I…I like to ride my bike through the old path we used to take together every morning. I know it's stupid, but sometimes, I throw out his favorite candy bars, hoping that he'll find his way back. I know…I know it doesn't work like that, but it made me feel better as a kid, thinking that he wouldn't go hungry. Nowadays I write little messages on them. Just small stuff, like 'wish you were here' and 'please come home.'"

Atlas interjected, "Wait…you didn't happen to use any Snickers and Twix, did you?"

"Yeah…"

"Sorry, but I may or may not have eaten a few," he admitted. "What? Why are you two looking at me like that?"

Barbara broke first, a small snort followed by quiet laughter. Toby followed soon after.

Then, just as suddenly, their laughter changed to crying and Barbara found the shorter boy had wrapped his arms around her, his tears wet against her shoulder.

Poor Atlas looked lost. It made her pity him. This probably wasn't how he saw this going. Still, he tried to appear sympathetic at least, placing a hand on Barbara's right shoulder and Toby's left.

They stayed that way for a while.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Trollhunters or any of its characters.

I hope ya'll enjoy the two chapters I've put out. Thank you for all the reviews! It always makes me feel good to hear that people enjoy my writing.

* * *

His fifth visit came on the worst day possible.

Six years exactly.

She downed the rest of her Merlot, a bowl of popcorn settled between her legs. Barbara called in sick for work that morning as the act of even getting out of bed felt like a chore.

So she spent the day in front of the television, watching HBO and drowning her thoughts in mindless cousin sex, because why the hell not?

God, she'd changed. But who doesn't when they lose their kid? She wondered if her ex was feeling the same right now, but she quickly threw the thought away. He was probably living it up with his girlfriend up on the east coast. Maybe he's already married her and they have their own kids now.

It wasn't fair, but that was life.

Pushing glasses back to the arch of her nose, she glanced over at her turned off phone. Barbara knew it was wrong of her to turn it off, in case someone might need her, but who really did?

No, that wasn't true. The real reason she didn't want her phone on was because of all the texts she got from friends and family, wishing her well and "praying" for her. She didn't want wishes and prayers; she wanted to be left alone.

Barbara knew she was being ridiculous, but who wouldn't? The one day she took off out of the year and suddenly everyone wanted to talk with her?

Bullshit, they just wanted to make themselves feel better, to give themselves a nice pat on the back for a good job of comforting the mother whose son went missing.

Or maybe (and more likely), she was just internalizing everything. She didn't go to a therapist for three years after her son's disappearance, and didn't realize she needed one until she broke down in the middle of a work. Even now, four years after, she struggled to put forth words about the black gaping hole inside herself. But she tried. She went to a grief Counselor once a month and a Grief Anonymous group biweekly. It didn't change how she felt, but at least she could get up in the mornings without wanting to die.

Nevertheless, today was her day, which was why, when her doorbell rang several times, she stomped over to open the door and in a harsh tone, said, "What?"

"Please," Walt started, Atlas leaning precariously against his side. In broad daylight. "I need your help."

And then the teen vomited directly on her favorite slippers.

Gross, but nothing she wasn't used to at work. In a flash, she kicked them off, careful to avoid slipping on the excess.

"Get inside." She ordered.

Barbara opened the door wider for the two, sticking her head out to make sure no one was around. Thankfully, it was a weekday, so most people were out and about. Her boyfriend dragged the teen inside, his legs already too weak to hold himself up.

"He was fine earlier. I don't know what happened. What's wrong with him? Has he been poisoned? Is he dying?" Walt pulled the boy closer, unease written all over his features. "None of our medications are working."

She put a hand to the boy's head. He was burning up. "He's got a high fever. I'll go get the thermometer. Arcadia's going through a pretty bad flu season right now, so it could be that."

Walt's face went white, fear in his eyes. "Our kind don't get the flu."

Barbara brought out the thermometer from the bathroom and stuck it under the boy's mouth. "Well, apparently, half-Trolls do."

"Is it possible I could be infected too?" Her boyfriend asked. "Is it possible for the virus to cross-species?"

"Are you seriously asking this right now?" The stick beeped. She pulled it back out. "102 degrees. Not good but not in the danger zone yet, thankfully. We'll need to bring down his temperature though."

"I'll be useless to him if I get sick as well." He said. "I—you must understand; this has never happened to me before. He's never gotten sick."

"If you're that worried, you can go wash your hands and face with soap and water in my bathroom then keep away from him for a while. In fact, why don't you go get some Gatorade and soup from the store? He'll need his fluids if he's going to get any better."

She picked up the boy's arm and hung it around her shoulder, depositing his weight from Walt to her. She nearly buckled at the weight. Damn, he was heavy.

Walt stood by the door, watching the two as she dragged the boy to her downstairs bathroom.

"Is everything going to be okay? Are you sure I shouldn't—"

"Go," she commanded. "The longer you wait here dawdling, the longer it will take for Atlas to get better."

Well, that wasn't necessarily true, but she didn't need to tell him that.

The door shut with a sharp click just as she entered into the bathroom with the boy in tow. By sheer luck she managed to put him in front of the toilet just as another round of puke made it way out.

"Am I dying?" Atlas groaned, voice cracking.

"No, child," Barbara reassured him. "You're sick."

"This sucks…"

"I know," she said. "You'll get better soon."

She lifted his hair back and rubbed his back in circular motions, until she noticed it.

It might have been just a coincidence, but Barbara didn't believe in those.

The Doctor's heart skipped a beat.

Her index finger traced the crescent shaped birthmark, its location and size identical to her son's.

The teen beneath her burped loudly, then emptied his stomach again, coughing violently.

She returned to rubbing his back, though her thoughts were still on the mark.

"I think I'm empty now," Atlas whispered, head perched on top of ring.

"Let's get you to the couch then. Do you think you can walk by yourself or do you need me?"

"Need you," he mumbled. "Please."

Using her legs, she lifted him again. He was still depositing his weight on her, but it was less than before thankfully. He wobbled, one hand pressing against the wall for balance. His black hair lay in clumps, stuck together by sweat.

She struggled not to see the similarities. His hair color and part were the exact same, though his hair was wilder than Jim would ever wear it. Blue eyes that, while inhumanly brighter than a regular person's, were identical to her boy's. Even his face shape was similar, abet more Trollish (if that was even a word). It dumbfounded her how she'd completely missed all this over the last few months.

"Have you always been this way?"

"Hmm?"

"Half-Troll," she said.

"Don't know," he admitted, eyes glazed over. "Can't remember…before."

She nodded, her mind working out hundreds of theories, of reasons, but she kept them to herself.

The moment he reached the couch he collapsed on it, curling inwardly to warm himself. She threw a blanket over the teen, then pulled up a chair.

"I'm going to get you some water and Tylenol. Is there anything you need?"

"A pillow…would be nice."

Barbara reentered the bathroom and nearly collapsed.

Oh god, what was she doing? She couldn't stop the hope bubbling within her. It was a long shot, but the facts were all falling into place like puzzle pieces. The boy lost his memories around the same time she lost her son and looked suspiciously like him?

Her mind raced, the sound of her pounding heart only adding to the chaos of her thoughts. Her ex-husband never talked about his family or where he'd been raised. Even contacting him was difficult, as he never showed up on internet searches or in phone books. All she had to contact him was a cell number, scribbled on a piece of notebook paper, gathering dust inside her bedside drawer. Could he be, as the facts seemed to suggest, something more? Something inhuman?

Or, was it her? Could she be a Troll or have Troll blood? No, that's ridiculous, she reasoned. If she was, she would have figured it out a long time ago. At least, she hoped so.

So many possibilities, but they all hinged on whether or not he was actually her son. Despite the strong empirical evidence, she needed the truth, the cold hard scientific data.

She pulled out a swab from the sink drawer. It would only take a second. She had a friend who worked in a Los Angeles lab that dealt with DNA matches.

Still, this went against her code as a Doctor. To take—no, steal his DNA for her own selfish reasons?

Her selfishness won out. After swallowing the medication, she gave him, she presented the swab.

"What's that for?"

"To make sure you're not cross-species contagious," she lied.

He nodded, though it looked like he didn't truly understand. "Yeah, sure. I'd hate it if dad went through something like this. This is agony. I feel like I'm dying. Even Bular's punches were better than this."

"Many humans get this way every flu season," Barbara said. "If they can survive it, so can you."

He swabbed the back of his mouth with the stick and handed it back. She deposited it into a small plastic bag, careful not to let the teen see her guilt-ridden features.

Placing the bag back in the kitchen, she sat down next to the boy and stroked his cheek. He relaxed at the touch, skootching closer to her hand.

"Your skin is so cool," he mumbled. "S'nice."

"How are you feeling?"

"Hot and cold."

"Why don't you get some rest," she said.

"Will…you stay? With me?"

Her heart melted. She blinked away the water in her eyes, glad the boy was too out of it to see. "Of course I will, J—Atlas."

He quickly fell into slumber. By the ten-minute mark though, he began to move. She watched on as his eyes fluttered and his eyebrows drew together. Sweat dripped down his pale face.

What if she…it could work, if he truly was her son. She felt bad, to be experimenting on the poor sick teen like this, however she wanted to know; no, she needed to know.

She ran her fingers through his hair, starting to hum the song she sang to Jim as a child. It was an old lullaby she picked up from her own mother and her mother before that. The words had long been forgotten, lost to time, or perhaps it never had words at all, simply existing as a calming influence from parent to child.

Slowly, the tension left his body, brow relaxing. His long ears flicked back and forth in such a manner that she struggled to contain the giggle within her.

She stopped humming when he opened his eyes.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you, Atlas?"

"No…that song…I know it."

"Oh?" She struggled to contain herself, the dark hole within herself filling with unbridled hope.

"Somewhere…don't know where…"

"My mother used to sing it to me, as her mother did before her," Barbara whispered. "Just as I did for my own son."

"It's so familiar…why do I—"

Walt slammed open the front door, bags hanging from each arm.

"Is he still alive?" He asked.

Barbara pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's the flu, Walt. Not the Black Plague."

She rose halfway from the chair before Atlas grabbed her arm.

"Don't…want you to leave."

Walt walked up to them, depositing the bags on the nearby armchair. "Let her go, Atlas."

"No, it's okay," Barbara said. "He's…my patient. If he doesn't want to me to go, then I won't go."

She went back to stroking his hair. It only took a few minutes for the boy returned to sleep, this time much less fitful.

Walt sat quietly in the chair furthest from them, head buried in his hands. His form flickered, but stabilized when he realized what had just happened.

"I'm so sorry about this Barbara," He finally spoke. "I wasn't sure what to do. He was fine yesterday, but when I woke up this morning I found him on the floor of our home…I-I nearly collapsed. It felt like someone tore out my heart and stomped all over it."

"Welcome to parenthood," Barbara said sarcastically.

"I am never having any more kids. Young Atlas is enough."

"What ever happened to his birth parents? Does your people know anything?"

He shook his head. "Unfortunately, not much."

"Not even his age?"

"Sixteen we think. He was around ten-years-old when we found him according to the dental and bone scans, although those are notoriously unreliable. The documents we found dated him as such as well."

"Documents?"

"There…was a private research facility, forty miles south of here. He'd escaped and made it all the way to the highway before we captured him. We…" He clenched his fists. "They were experimenting on our kind. Somehow, they knew what we were, how we worked. They picked up the weaker Changelings, the ones that lived on the fringes. None of them survived. Whatever was done to them cannot be put into words. We burned it to the ground, along with the humans inside. Only Atlas survived. We only rescued some of the information, who gave them the funds, their patterns and such, as we feared what would happen if the rest of the world found out. The rest were destroyed. Our people in the government made it look like an accidental electrical fire."

"What if there had been innocent people in there?"

He scowled, "No one in that bloody facility was a good person, Barbara. Atlas was lucky. The photos of their…'experiments'. I'm glad they're dead."

She nodded quietly, then changed the subject, "Is there anything he remembers? Even a little?"

"Almost nothing. He's had some sensory memories, sounds, tastes, smells that might bring back a feeling, but nothing concrete. We think he had some sort of brain injury prior, amnesia perhaps."

"What about your people? Hasn't anyone come forward as his mother or father?"

He shrugged, "If they have its not to my knowledge. They would risk death if they did…We don't even know if his parents were even Changelings themselves."

She tilted her head. "How could that be possible?"

"I'm not a scientist, Barbara, but when I was head of the Order I did have those who were look into it. It's just as possible one of his parents was a Changeling as one of his ancestors was. Still, Changelings…we are mostly sterile. The process we undergo was very gruesome, one I wouldn't wish on anyone." He looked down at his hands, thoughtful. "There are…Scandinavian tales that spoke of mating between our two species. The Huldra, for example, were a type of Troll that appeared mostly human and would mate with human males, but any records of those times are likely gone or destroyed. You should understand that our kind consider the Huldra to be mythical beings, but then, so do humans with Trolls. To us, Atlas is essentially a fairytale creature come to life. Something that should be impossible and yet, somehow, exists."

"Atlas…such a strange name for a boy." She smiled wistfully. "But it fits, doesn't it."

"Yes, he always seems to want to carry all the world's responsibilities it seems. Always trying to prove himself, to help others…It started as a joke, you know, a silly nickname. The first book I read to him was about Greek mythology. It was the only book he let me read to him, nothing else. After…his initiation, I called him that, as a joke mind you, and it just stuck."

The love in his eyes, the fondness, finally made her cave. She sighed, and pulled out the bag with the boy's DNA.

"I took his saliva."

His gaze grew critical, serious. He leaned forward, hands together. "And what are you doing to do with it?"

"I've got a friend in a lab upstate."

"What do you want, Barbara?"

"I want…to know. To see if we share the same DNA." She wiped away the wetness forming in her eyes. "What if…what if Atlas is Jim?"

"What made you come to that conclusion?"

"The birthmark on the back of his neck, for one," she began to list them off with her fingers. "His need to care for others, his identical coloring, the fact that he knows of my lullaby that I've only sang to my son as a child…"

"Then if you're so certain, why are you showing this to me then?"

"I won't do it," she started. "Not without your permission. You're his father. I-I need your consent."

His eyes widened, mouth slackening, before he closed it, lips thinning. "What will you do if you find out he's truly your son?"

"I'm not sure, in all honesty." She confessed.

"And what if he's not? What then?"

Barbara brushed back a stray lock from the teen's eyes. "Then I'll care for him all the same. He grows on you…I love him like a son already."

Walt stood, moving to lean down in front of her. He lay a hand over her trembling face, the other on her knee.

"I hope, for your sake and mine, that he is."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Trollhunters or any of its characters.

I finally finished the last chapter. Thank you for all the reviews! I hope you enjoy it. I should put up my next part in the series sometime over the weekend hopefully.

* * *

Her first visit to his home was unexpected.

Things had… _changed_ , to say the least.

Of course, it was no one's fault but his own (and Claire's too, now that he thought about it). Going to the Darklands to rescue Claire's baby brother was by far the stupidest thing they'd ever done together. Somehow, they survived, though not without repercussions.

Claire, in spite of her insistence that she was "fine", was physically and emotionally drained. She clung to her brother like a lifeline. It was only thanks to Darci and Mary that her parents never grew suspicious at her absence, sacrificing the rest of their allowed absences at school to protect the Trollhunter's identity.

Still, that didn't change the awkwardness that now existed between her and her friends. Mary was furious with both of them and Darci, well, Darci was just disappointed. Claire was the rational, level-headed one, so it was no wonder the others were shocked when she headed off to the Darklands without them, no explanation given. Blinky, AARRAGGHH! and the rest of the Trolls were split as to whether Claire did what was right. Either way, there would be consequences. For both of them.

For Claire, it would be going through the gate, something Vendel had forbidden.

For Atlas, it would be sneaking into Trollmarket (which was surprisingly easy, honestly, their security was one of the worst. Even the Order had better security than them), something Vendel had also forbidden. Even though he was the Trollhunter's boyfriend (or "boytoy", as the one-armed wonder himself liked to call him), he was related to the Changelings and that made him enemy number one.

It was only by happenstance that Atlas made it through the portal with Claire, however, that didn't change the reality of the situation.

Claire tried to leave without them.

Without him.

Of course, Claire later explained why, but it still hurt. A lot.

Speaking of hurt, physically he was a mess. The bruises from their little adventure were numerous; it would take another week before he could touch his toes again without groaning in pain. His body felt like lead, the exhaustion running all the way down to his bones.

They'd failed to kill Gunmar and Claire had nearly died by the Troll's hands.

He felt useless, both as a boyfriend and as a warrior.

It was only thanks to combined rescue effort of the Trollhunters (and the Creepslayerz, oh dear god, Steve was never going to let him live that one down) that they survived.

And, needless to say, his father had been absolutely furious with him. As in, there may or may not have been some knife-throwing going around. He had never seen the man so angry.

Atlas was grounded, strictly forbidden to leave during the daytime and constantly being monitored through his phone, which his father required him to have at all times.

He understood.

Still sucked though.

Speaking of fathers, he was late for his curfew.

He'd spent most of the night hanging out in Claire's room, the two spending a rare night without Trollhunting by watching movies and cuddling on her bed.

It was magical.

He cursed when he noticed the time though, and after kissing Claire goodnight, booked it back.

Which brought him to now. His arrival did not go unannounced. Still, he was surprised to see not only his father but Dr. Lake as well.

"So happy you could join us, Atlas," Stricklander said coolly, drumming the fingers of his left hand along the surface of the table. "Though I do remember asking you to be home by midnight, tonight and its already nearly one."

 _Shit. Shit, shit, shit._ Atlas slid off his backpack to the floor, careful not to appear too guilty.

Did he find out about his date with Claire? How did he find out? Who told him?

Nomura must have ratted him out. He inwardly cursed. _No duh,_ he thought. She was his subordinate after all.

The bags under his father's eyes were less bruised than earlier, but the simmering feeling of fatigue still radiated from his person.

Dr. Lake appeared to be in a similar state, her hair untidy and thrown into a ponytail. "Hello, Atlas. It's good to see you. How—"

"I'm innocent," he interrupted, hands raised in defense. "The person who told you is a liar. I was at the library. Reading...books."

Dr. Lake raised an eyebrow; his father threw him an annoyed glare.

Stricklander sighed, massaging his temples. "I don't know what you've done, in fact, I'm not certain I want to at this point, but that can wait until later. Barbara has come here to speak with you."

"I brought some cookies," she started, pulling out a container of strange blackened disks. "I wanted to see how you were doing after…the Darklands."

She paused, a frown forming on her lips. "I'm angry…no, furious that you went without telling anyone. It was irresponsible of you. You and Claire could have died. However...I'm more glad that you and Claire made it home in one piece, and that you were able to bring home her brother as well. That's commendable. Idiotic, but commendable."

"Someone had to," Atlas said. "But yeah, it was stupid. Incredibly stupid."

His father muttered something under his breath in Trollish that sounded suspicious like an insult to his intelligence.

The teen held his tongue.

"As your Doctor though, I'm worried about your health. Have you been drinking and eating enough? Have you…"

She continued to ramble on as Atlas focused in on the cookies at the table. His mouth watered. Even bad cookies were still food, and after living off of god-knows-what in the Darklands, even Dr. Lake's cooking was delicious.

As if he were on autopilot, he picked one up and bit into it, then immediately covered his mouth.

They were disgusting, true, but familiar. Way too familiar.

He'd eaten these before.

"These cookies…I remember them," He started, "I've had them, but…when? You've never given me cookies before…"

Backing away from the table, only his father's hand stopped him, his vice-like grip immobilizing the teen.

"Sit down, Atlas. There's a reason for that, however I need you to be calm," Stricklander ordered, voice stern. "Now."

He slumped back into his seat, shoulders hitched. The two adults shared a look, one that Atlas could not discern.

What was going on? Atlas bit the inside of his cheek, trying to think, to go over where he had those cookies. There was nothing in his memories that remotely corresponded with the treats. He'd eaten terrible food before, but this, this was something different. Even though they were overdone and salty, he could tell she'd put a lot of work into them.

Dr. Lake looked at him with concerned eyes. "Walt, maybe we should wait a bit. When he's more stable. It's obvious the Darklands…have been an ordeal."

"There's no use in delaying the inevitable, Barbara, dear. Besides, young Atlas has handled far worse."

"I can hear both of you, you know," Atlas chimed in. "And I'd like it if you didn't talk as if I wasn't here in the room with you."

"Sorry, Atlas," Dr. Lake said.

Stricklander was not so apologetic. "Barbara, enough with chit-chat. Tell him why you're here."

"I was getting to that, Walt," she muttered under her breath. "Atlas, can I tell you a story?"

Atlas nodded. It was all he could do really.

Taking a deep breath, she began, "As you can see, I don't normally make cookies, or really even cook at all. Cooking has never been one of my gifts, you see. Now, the first time I tried to make cookies was for my son's First Grade Christmas Party. I should have bought the regular store-brand kind, but silly me wanted to impress my son with my so-called 'baking' prowess. Sadly, that didn't work out, so I dumped the batch and resolved to try again in the morning before school."

She paused, adjusting her glasses. "Right around midnight, I heard a crash downstairs. Oh my god, I woke with such a fright! I thought it was a robber, so I took my old high school baseball bat downstairs. I was a decent Batter back then, almost went to regional, but that's beside the point. Anyways, when I reached the kitchen, I found Jim on the floor crying. It wasn't a robber; Jim just wanted to bake the cookies. He tried using a knife to open up one of my cookie dough cans and cut his left thumb nearly to the bone. It was horrible. There was blood everywhere…" Her voice drifted off.

Dr. Lake laughed a little, then said, "…But he wasn't crying because of the blood, he was crying because he _messed_ up the cookies. Can you believe it? He wanted to surprise me. Even at such a young age, Jim liked to care for me."

The teen's brows came together, confusion evident. "Why are you telling me all this?"

She gestured to Atlas' hand. "Jim had a small scar on his left thumb."

Atlas glanced down at his left palm, then immediately closed it into a tight fist.

It was crazy.

She was crazy.

It was impossible.

And yet.

It was there.

"What are you trying to say?" Atlas said.

"What I'm trying to say is…" She paused, a pensive look appearing over her face. Finally, she said, "Do you remember the saliva sample I took from you when you were sick?"

"A little…Something about cross-species contamination between Trolls and humans, right? You wanted to make sure I couldn't infect Dad."

She shuffled her feet, looking away from the teen. "I lied."

"What?"

"I took your blood for a different purpose. It was…it was for a DNA test. To see…to see if it matched with m-mine..." She started to fumble through her words, hands shaking. "Sorry, I'm rather terrible at this, but I just can't help it. I-I got the results back today…They're positive."

His eyes burned. He cradled his head, his mind blank.

"What do you mean by positive?" He started, raising his voice. "That I'm your son? Is that what you're trying to say?"

She didn't answer him with words, only nodding.

It was as if a bomb had gone off inside his thoughts. What was he supposed to think?

But it matched; it all matched.

She lost her son six years ago, just as he lost his memories around the same time.

He always felt comfortable around Dr. Lake and now he knew why.

She was his mother.

His mother.

A flood of unknown feelings filled his being, making him nauseous.

So many emotions gathered inside him. A happy, almost elated feeling arose at the top, but anger and sadness followed close behind. What was he supposed to do?

He wished Claire was here. She was better in the emotional department than he was.

Dr. Lake shook silently.

Atlas reached out a hand, then pulled it away.

Fear gripped his soul.

What if she rejected his touch? Why would she want some "impure half-breed" for a son?

Bular's words echoed through his mind. It was hard to have much self-esteem with the King of all Superiority Complexes lived next door to you for six years.

He threw the thought out. She never cared about what he was before, so why would she now?

Dr. Lake—his mother, she wasn't like other humans. She wasn't the type to reject someone simply because they were born different.

A large hand graced his shoulder. "It's alright if you're feeling a tad overwhelmed, Atlas. You may go to your room if you need to."

But he didn't.

Instead, the teen did the exact opposite.

He stood unsteadily, then walked over to the woman next to him.

Hesitantly, he came closer, arms outstretched.

She immediately latched on, her head settled underneath his chin.

It was weird. But warm. So warm.

He buried his face into her hair, arms wrapping around her closer. She smelled like Lavender shampoo.

It was strange how good it felt, how at home he felt.

Dr. Lake started to cry, the shaking overtaking her whole body.

"I never gave up. I wouldn't. No matter what everyone said," she said between gasps. "I never stopped looking for you."

"I know," he whispered.

"I spent three years looking through every hospital record and police report, traveling throughout the state and country with whatever lead I could find. And it was hard. So hard. Because all of them were dead-ends."

"I know."

"There wasn't a day that's gone by that I haven't thought about you."

"I know."

"People said you were dead, but I didn't believe them. I didn't. I couldn't believe them. Not you. I knew in my heart that you were somewhere out there."

"I know."

"I just—I just can't believe you're here. Now. In my arms. And look how much my baby boy has grown! I can't believe you're taller than me now."

"I know," he said, eyes no longer dry. "I know."

She brought her forehead to his own. "There's so much I could have done. If only I had searched harder. Then maybe—"

"You did the best you could," he added quietly, "Mom."

The words tasted odd on his tongue, unused for so long.

She kissed his head, and then each of his cheeks. "I missed you, baby."

It was so much to take in, but, at the same time, he cherished it, like a child with their favorite toy. He didn't want to let her go.

"Jim," she started, then stopped herself. "I mean, Atlas. I'm sorry, this must be very hard on you. Which is it you would prefer?"

"Either is fine," he said, and to his own surprise he meant it. "You can call me anything you want."

Even without his old memories, the identity of Jim fit.

Or it could. Given time.

He was—he would be comfortable with both names.

Of course, it would take some time to get used to being called so, but he could get used to it, he could adjust.

And perhaps, with his parents and the Trollhunter's help, he would regain those old memories at some point.

For now, though, he could settle for this.

"Can you stay tonight?" He asked her, then looked over at Stricklander. "Can she stay, dad? There's so much I want to talk about."

His father lightly squeezed his forearm. "Of course. She's welcome to stay as long as she wants."

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," Dr. Lake, his mother, added.

For once, for once, in Atlas—or Jim, he wasn't sure which he wanted to be called by yet (outside of his mother), but for once in his life he felt like things were starting to look up.

Claire had been the start, and if it wasn't for her he never would have met Dr. Lake or his human friends. It wasn't going to be an easy road, as the Janus Order still existed and Gunmar still lived, yet it was far better than from where he started.

"Barbara, you're welcome to use my bedroom. I trust you remember which room it is?"

"Wait," Atlas said, horror dawning on his face. "What?"


End file.
